


Stiles Stilinski is Not a Real Name

by redkislington



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 'Magic' Markers hehehehe, Alternate Universe - Hanna Is Not a Boy's Name, Blood Loss, Derek can't remember anything, Ghosts, I don't even know why this exists, Investigating Own Death, Magic, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Memory Loss, Mystery, Paranormal Investigator Stiles, Paranormal Investigators, Still Werewolves, Teen Wolf style Werewolves, Vampire Lydia, Vampires, Zombie!Derek, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-13
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2017-12-19 07:43:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/881236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redkislington/pseuds/redkislington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles... was a stupid name. There wasn't much he remembered or knew, but that... that he knew for sure was true.</p><p>The man arched a brow at the business card – reading Stiles Stilinski; Paranormal Investigator along with their address. He wasn't even sure whether this person was male or female. The name was so ambiguous he couldn't tell.</p><p>“Holy shit! You're a zombie?!”</p><p>Well... He was observant at least.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh, I don't even know why I wrote this. Especially because I'm supposed to be writing other things right now. Aaanyway, yeeeah. This. It's... a thing? I guess I just thought Derek as the zombie (what with Derek with the broody silence, small spectrum of emotions and the occasional sarcastic digs) and Stiles as Hanna (what with the lack of self-preservation instincts, hyper-activity and tendency to leap into things that should maybe not be leaped into) fit a little bit. So, here it is? There may or may not be more, I dunno yet. Sort of just going to see how this goes. :P

 

Stiles... was a stupid name. There wasn't much he remembered or knew, but that... that he knew for sure was true.

 

The man arched a brow at the business card – reading Stiles Stilinski; Paranormal Investigator along with their address. He wasn't even sure whether this person was male or female. The name was so ambiguous he couldn't tell.

 

He shrugged, and knocked on the door of apartment 306, though the 6 was barely hanging on, the top screw missing so the number was flipped into a 9, and waited. He didn't know how long he was waiting for, until a tall, wiry, mole-speckled teen peered out from behind the door, looking tired and uninterested as he mumbled 'Hello'. Then he actually looked at the man standing in his doorway, then he flailed and the door flew open.

 

“Holy shit! You're a zombie?!”

 

Well... He was observant at least.

 

The man glanced back at the group of people starting to show some interest in them then turned back to the teen. He flailed some more, then stepped back, holding the door open to him and gesturing for him to come in.

 

“Um, can I help you? Or, you want a soda or something. I... oh, zombies probably don't drink soda. Probably doesn't digest well what with the... undead... _ness_.” The teen fidgetted and looked over the man. He was still wearing the soil-stained clothes he woke up in, along with a bright scarf that he'd found wrapped around his crumbling tombstone. “Do you have a name? Or, do you talk?”

 

The man glared, and the teen swallowed, then grimaced. “Maybe I should introduce myself first? Um, I'm Stiles.”

 

Still a stupid name. He took the offered hand though. Stiles looked surprised when they touched, like he was expecting something different. He didn't know if his hands were too clammy or cold, there wasn't too much feeling in them. He could tell, though, the Stilinski's hand was warm and soft, the skin giving easily in his grip.

 

“So, what are you here for?”

 

Oh. Right. “I'm looking for a job.”

 

Stiles' brows shot up so high they nearly morphed together with his hair line. “A _job_.” He huffed out a small laugh. “ _Oookay_. I don't know if I could pay you much, I haven't exactl- _wait_.” Stiles narrowed his eyes. “How do you even know what I do, Mr. Zombie.”

 

The man felt his cheek twitch, and he swallowed the urge to sigh in agitation, and pulled out the card, handing it over. “I found this. I don't need any payment, I just need a place to stay and something to do.” He hadn't exactly done much for the week he'd been out of the grave. He'd mostly spent his time in the graveyard, just contemplating his life – or unlife. He'd tried finding clues about his past before his death but there wasn't much to go on. His name had been scratched out, and he didn't have anything with him other than the clothes he was wearing.

 

“Where did you even... You know what, nevermind. That's cool, having a zombie roommate shouldn't be too bad. You don't seem like you want to eat me.” Stiles looked over him then frowned, his brown eyes narrowing. “I'd need something to call you by though.”

 

The zombie shrugged. “I can't remember my name.”

 

There were a few beats of silence, then Stiles spoke. “That's... bad.” The zombie rolled his eyes, then moved further into the cluttered apartment. There were papers scattered everywhere, some looking like they were ripped out of books, others sketches of symbols and lists. He found himself wondering just what exactly Stiles did. “I know! I could try to guess, and maybe something will ring a bell, okay? How about Miguel? No? Um, Tony. Clark? Wayne?” Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. What were the chances of finding another paranormal investigator willing to hire the undead? “...Peter?”

 

That last name sounded a little familiar but... He wrinkled his nose. “No, definitely not.”

 

“Okay, this isn't working. Do you have any idea what it could start with?”

 

He thought back to his tomb stone. He could sort of tell some of the letters but most were completely ruined. His name was short though, at least, shorter than Stiles Stilinski. “Maybe a D? Or an H.”

 

“That... really didn't help. Those are nothing alike. That's like confusing dick with hick, dude.”

 

“You can just call me Zombie?”

 

“That's like calling your pet cat, Kitty. No.”

 

...He feels like he should be insulted.

 

“Can you show me around?”

 

“Oh, yeah.” Stiles grinned. “Follow me, I'll give you a tour of my glamorous pad.”

 

It didn't take long. The apartment was cramped, even without all of Stiles things strewn all over. Every place in the two room area was packed with artifacts and books, and there was not one surface that wasn't cloaked in paper. In the bedroom there was a small mattress on the floor, and a folding chair stuffed into the corner with a laptop – the nicest item in the apartment – buzzing away in the seat.

 

“Aaaand, that's it.” Stiles said, looking proud with a huge, goofy grin on his face, his chest pushed out and his hands on his hips. The teen looked around the room, to the zombie, then back to the room. “Um, you can take the bed if you want, I can sleep on the floor.”

 

“Don't sleep.” He muttered simply, then nodded over to the chair. “I can just sit there.”

 

Stiles stared at him for a moment, then nodded slowly and whipped out his phone. “We don't have much to do for today, I haven't gotten any – er... many calls, not so many disturbances in the supernatural world, I guess, heh.”

 

The zombie watched as the teen walked away, following after him slowly was he typed away on his cell phone. At least this was more interesting than just brooding around the cemetery. He looked over Stiles, the way he sprawl out across whatever surface he planted himself in, and he twitched and fidgeted or played with his phone, how he always moved and he always seemed to talk.

 

He had the sneaking feelings a lot of things were a lot more interesting with Stiles.

 

 

_**10:43 PM** _

Stiles

 

_Dude. DUDE. You are not going to believe this. There is an actual real life zombie here in my place._

 

_Zombies actually don't want to eat brains, isn't that awesome?!?!_

 

_He's my new partner and it's gonna be awesome and we're going to fight crime and stuff._

 

_He doesn't have a name I don't know what to name him. Zeus? I don't know. He's rather stoic and he glares a lot and doesn't talk much._

 

_Scott?_

 

_**10:50 PM** _

Scott

 

_stiles help me there is a bat in mye hecbofogfnd_

 

“Well, shit.” Stiles looked up at Zeus, where he was looking over some of Stiles' notes that were scattered on the counter. “We might actually have something to do.” He stood up and brushed himself off then grabbed his bestiary and his 'tool kit' then nodded for James to follow him. “You ready, dude?”

 

The zombie shrugged and followed after him. He didn't quite know what he could have the undead man do yet. He didn't know much about zombies, and what he did know was all from crappy horror flicks or video games and so far every zombie fact in those were all debunked. Quincy seemed intelligent, he could at least speak English clearly, anyway. And really, he didn't look that bad for a dead guy. A bit of purpling skin on his cheek bone and slashes all along his arms and a deep gash in his pale, ashy skin that was more a mud spot at this point. It looked a little bit like he'd been patched up a little bit, a quick and dirty clean up and then buried – and then brought back to life.

 

It didn't take long for them to get to Scott's. Hopefully it wouldn't be too bad, and they could get this over quickly. Stiles was really starting to yearn for his bed right about now. Especially considering the zombie had woken him up earlier when he'd konked out after a rather intense research sesh.

 

As soon as they got up to Scott's loft, though, it was clear that this? This wasn't going to be quick and easy. The first clue might've been that the bat talked. The glowing red eyes helped. “Oh thank fuck.” The bat huffed in relief when they wandered in. “This guy hasn't stopped screaming at me since I came in, really, my ears are this close to bleeding.”

 

“That bat. _TALKS_. STILES.” Scott screamed from... oh. Stiles had to bite hard on the inside of his cheek to stop from laugh at his friend. Scott had made a make-shift bunker from his kitchen table, a few chairs and several cloves of garlic that were spread all over them. He was wielding a mop with a cross made out of Popsicle sticks tied to it. No one ever said Scott wasn't creative.

 

“He doesn't seem to be hurting anyone.”

 

The bat growled. “I'm a girl, thank you very much, and no, I'm not. I'm just looking for a place to stay the night. There's a storm coming that I just really don't want to deal with right now. And maybe a little bite to eat.”

 

Scott made ridiculous gestures to the bat with the mop and made a sound like he was dying.

 

Stiles sighed. “I'm sorry about that, um, Miss Bat, but you can't really stay here. Scott's... not really a fan of anything remotely supernatural. Maybe if you promised not to eat him?”

 

“Are you really trying to talk a vampire into an agreement right now?” Scott whined. Alfred made a noise of agreement. Stiles rolled his eyes as the bat huffed and fluttered her wings.

 

“I never said anything of the sort about eating him. I just came in here through the open window and I was just asking about staying the night when he flipped his shit and hit me with a mop.” Stiles bit back his laughter again and nodded for the bat to continue. “He then threw garlic at me and drenched me with a squirt gun.” She sighed like she was in pain. “He ruined my perfectly groomed fur...”

 

Stiles paused a moment, looking between Scott and the bat, then shrugged. “If you need a place you could stay with me. As long as you don't decide to make me your snack for the night.”

 

The bat almost looked like it smiled then she fluttered down, leaving from one of the rafters of the loft and landing gently on a bookcase in front of him. “Just a little bit of blood would do. I don't really like that hole biting and drinking from strangers thing. It's unsanitary.”

 

A vampire that cares about hygeine. Okay. “Then I could give you a glass maybe. Be just like donating blood, no biggie.” He leaned over to check on his friend, who was watching the exchange with wide scared eyes. “That cool with you, Scott?”

 

“Stiles, I-”

 

“Good.” Stiles grinned and looked up to the bat, tilting up a shoulder. “It's not too far of a walk, miss.”

 

She jumped off of the book case and fluttered down onto his shoulder, gripping onto his shirt with her claws and patting his the back of his neck with a wing. “It's Lydia. Thank you for being so understanding, dear.”

 

The walk back wasn't too eventful. Lydia dozed a little bit on his shoulder, judging by the cute little snuffling noises she made, and the zombie was quiet, walking along with his hands shoved in his pockets. He looked just a little bit familiar, but not enough for Stiles to pinpoint where he'd seen him. Stiles looked over his dirty suit clothes. He'd have to get him some new ones. At least then they wouldn't get as many looks from people passing by. Right now the guy looked like he'd just crawled out of a grave. With some proper clothes he'd just look like he got into a nasty brawl or something.

 

“So.” The zombie's rough voice made him jump and he turned toward him, walking backward as the zombie raised a brow at him. “Are you always like that with the supernatural?”

 

“Negotiating? Nah, I've just dealt with vampires before.” And that wasn't something he really wanted to remember... He rubbed his side and flinched. “Most of them bite first and then ask questions. I figured since Lydia here had been kind enough to at least ask to stay without ripping Scott's throat out, I could give her the same courtesy.”

 

“A hunter with a heart, I never would've thought I'd see the day...” Lydia mumbled.

 

Stiles huffed. “Not a hunter. Just... trying to help out.”

 

“Mmm.” The bat stretched out, then flopped onto her stomach. “How much longer?”

 

Stiles stopped, spinning around to open the door to the building. “Not too much.”

 

When they got inside, Lydia hopped off of his shoulder, flying up until she was hanging from one of the cabinets in the teeny kitchen. She looked around, wrinkled her nose, but didn't comment. “Sorry about the mess.” Stiles shut the door after Leon, pulling off his jacket and throwing it onto the couch before he walked into the kitchen to grab a knife and a bowl. “I'll have your dinner ready in just a minute.”

 

Stiles winced as he ran the knife across his palm. He squeezed his hand into a fist over the bowl, watching his blood fall steadily into the container. Once it was about halfway full he pulled his hand back and washed off the blood, tucking a towel into his fist to soak up the remaining blood and washing off the knife.

 

Lydia dropped down from her perch to settle at the edge of the bowl, then started slurping up the red liquid. It didn't take very long until she was licking up the last streaks of red from the bottom of the bowl, her fur stained with it. She made a disgusted sound and looked up at Stiles. He pulled up a wash cloth and ran it under the tap for a few seconds then started wiping away the mess.

 

“Mmfph.... Ah! Thank you.” She patted his hand then flew up to resume her little perch on his cabinet. “It's been a long time since I've found someone as courteous as you. It's refreshing to know you humans are like that.”

 

Stiles laughed and shrugged. “You didn't kill my friend. I figured I could help you out.” He turned back to the counter and ran the dirty bowl under the water, not speaking for a few moments as he rinsed it out. Then he turned back to the vampire. “So, why are you still in bat form? I figured you'd have changed back by now.”

 

Lydia groaned. “Don't even get me started. I've had the worst week. It started with this damn druid and her werewolf friend, she cursed me so I can't shift back and her nearly tore my wings off as I was getting away.”

 

“Werewolf?” Leon spoke finally, looking interested for once. His brows were raised and his eyes – which were a sort of unusual grayish-blue-hazel color with a bit of a blue glow to them – were looking brighter than Stiles had ever seen.

 

Lydia huffed. “Yes, a werewolf. An alpha. No idea why he was following her orders but either way I just barely got out of there in one piece.” She stretched her wings out, then started grooming her fur with her claws as she continued. “I hadn't seen them since, and I don't really know how far I traveled. I know there was a nasty storm coming in tonight, though. I had to stop for the night, flying around lightning and with all that wind isn't exactly easy.”

 

“I understand.” Stiles felt his phone go off in his pocket and chuckled softly. “I'm sorry for Scott. He's a bit of a skeptic. I'm actually surprised he didn't start freaking out over Christian, guess he was too distract with you.”

 

Lydia paused her grooming and looked over at the zombie, who was back to glaring at Stiles as he pulled his phone out to check his messages. “You don't look like a Christian.”

 

The zombie sighed. “I forgot my name so he's trying to guess what it is. So far he's-” The bowl slipped out of Stiles' hands, banging loudly on the counter and then tumbling to the floor where it shattered. The zombie shot up and crossed the short distance to the teen, where he was staring at his phone and shaking. “Stiles?”

 

Lydia, where she was hanging from one leg after the noise scared her off, dropped down and landed on Stiles shoulder, looking over to look at the phone. “Oh.” Lydia leaned back. “I guess... we found the druid and wolf...”

 

Stiles tore out from under the zombies hands, then, spinning around on his heel and toward the door. “We're leaving. We're going to help Scott.” He paused a moment and snatched up his bag again along with a steel knife he had hidden behind the ratty couch and then he was out the door, Lydia just barely hanging on to his shirt.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to continue this. Eventually Derek is going to have a name again (because just calling him 'the zombie' is just weird, that and PLOT!) And if you've heard the comic Hanna is Not a Boy's Name, this is obviously just loosely borrowing plot and ideas from that.
> 
> Also, here for those who haven't read the comic: http://hanna.aftertorque.com/?p=4

“What exactly are you planning on doing?!” The bat screeched. The zombie winced as he ran after Stiles. “What, are you just going to run in there and try stabbing them with that little toothpick of a blade you have?! You know silver doesn't do anything against werewolves, right? Right?!”

 

Stiles didn't talk, he just kept running, earning weird glances from the few people on the streets. It was late enough now that it wasn't exactly the weirdest thing to see someone who looked like they'd been dragged out of a graveyard, and someone running down the street with a bat clinging to them.

 

He frowned; the mention of werewolves was... he wasn't sure if he was surprised because they exist or if it was something he was just remembering. He wondered how in the few hours he'd known Stiles his unlife had already turned into something so crazy. He'd think that just being undead would be enough, but apparently with Stiles Stilinski that wasn't going to be the case.

 

When they'd gotten up to the loft, again, it was dark. Almost completely pitch black, and quiet. There was only the softest sound of growling that could be heard. They all paused in the room then, and there was the sound of something rustling around, and then there was suddenly light. He turned and saw a bright beam shining from Stiles palm, a mark glowing at the base of it and a marker in his other hand.

 

That was... interesting.

 

He followed after Stiles as he looked around, shining the light around the room. It was wrecked, even more so from before. There were deep claw marks in the floor and the table that Scott had been using as cover was ripped in half. The window was broken, only small slivers of glass still there. Around the edge were some marks of red.

 

“Stiles, look down.” He muttered, seeing the heavy streak of blood following from the broken table to the window.

 

“Shit.” Stiles cursed, then looked to Lydia.

 

She had a wing over her nose, and her voice was strained when she spoke. “The werewolf was definitely here... And that boy's blood is everywhere...”

 

“Can you tell where they went?” Stiles' voice had an edge of panic in it. The man reached out and squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.

 

Lydia hummed, then pulled her wing back and inhaled deeply. She grimaced again and fell back onto Stiles shoulder. “They're on the roof.”

 

She'd barely gotten the words out when Stiles was spinning around and out the door. He climbed up the stairs until they got to the roof access and there they all were. Scott was lying passed out on the ground, a bite on his stomach that was bleeding freely, and long cuts along his side. His shirt was ripped almost all the way off by this point. Behind him was the wolf, nearly the size of a bear and all black with glowing red eyes. It was lying on it's stomach, looking bored with everything, as a tall cloaked figure that was kneeling beside Scott was etching marks into his skin. The marks looked almost exactly like the one Stiles drew just a minute ago.

 

He looked over to the teen, who had dropped onto the ground and was frantically drawing onto the rooftop, intricate lines that intermingled in a way that made his eyes ache. Soon the mark lit up, and the ground cracked, making the werewolf leap back without so much as a yelp and the cloaked figure curse and pull away from Scott as the cracked earth grabbed at their ankles.

 

He stared at the teen with Lydia, how he heaved once the mark stopped glowing, and the smell of blood in the air seemed to get a little bit stronger. What... what exactly was he?

 

“Get. Away. From him!” Stiles practically screamed, and the ground quaked again, causing a few more cracks in the cement of the roof, the cloaked figure falling to the ground as their ankle twisted inside of the crack with a sickening crack.

 

The werewolf simply backed away, not putting up much of a fight or even going to help the other person. The person growled, glaring up at Stiles, then they took out a quill, using their own blood as ink as they sketched a long line of marks along their arm and then just... disappeared.

 

Stiles breathed heavily, glaring over at the wolf, who just shrugged it's shoulders and flopped down onto the ground, it's paws tucked underneath it. It didn't seem to have much of a care about what was going on around it, especially since the person in the cloak disappeared. The teen huffed, inhaling one second then he was collapsing, coughing and hacking with horrible wet sounds, the smell of blood becoming overwhelming as red splattered over the hand Stiles was holding over his mouth.

 

“Stiles?” He leaned over the teen, seeing dark, bruised rings around his eyes, and noticing just how pale he was now. He looked like he was the one who was undead, now. “What just-”

 

Stiles held a hand up and sucked in a deep breath, spitting out any leftover blood in his mouth and wiping his hand on his jeans. “'m fine. Happens all the time.” Not exactly a reassuring.

 

“What do you mean, happens all the time?” Lydia practically screeched. “Coughing up blood isn't a good thing!”

 

Stiles shrugged her off and she yelped, glaring at him as she flew up to land on the zombie's shoulder. “Stiles...” He spoke softly, worried for the teen. He didn't think he could be worried for anyone anymore, but Stiles was... an enigma. He wasn't sure anymore if he wanted to find out more about him. About why Stiles seemed this close to death, and how he was able to do what he did, practically crack the entire building open for his friend.

 

Stiles waved them off, grimacing as he crawled over to Scott. He picked up his friend's arm, examining the marks the druid had left, then frowning. “She was trying to control him...” He pulled out his marker again, fumbling with it as he pulled off the cap, then drew over her unfinished lines, changing them. There was complete silence on the roof, the only sound the slight squeaking of the marker against skin.

 

Off to the side, there was a shuffling sound, and he looked over to find the werewolf standing up, stretching and padding over to them. He frowned, moving so he was between the wolf and Stiles. It didn't seem like it was going to tear them to shreds, it didn't seem like it was all the hostile at all since he'd seen it, but he wasn't going to risk trusting it.

 

The wolf just gave him a skeptical look, quirking a sarcastic brow at him, before it just sat back on it's haunches and peered around him to see what Stiles was doing. This wolf... was odd, not that he'd ever met any other werewolf but, still, this one was giving him a bad feeling.

 

Suddenly it's face lit up with a glowing, soft red light coming from behind him. He turned and stared as the marks on Scott's arms lit up, Stiles rubbing his hand over them softly as he muttered, looking paler by the minute. He moved, worried now because the last time Stiles did this, used magic, he started coughing out blood. He didn't think that doing more immediately after would be a good thing.

 

As soon as he was settled behind Stiles, ready to catch him if he collapsed and start running to the nearest hospital if need be, Scott jumped up, inhaling so deep that he should've started choking on the sudden rush of air, then looked around, dazed.

 

“Wuh?”

 

“Scott! Hey buddy.” Stiles smiled, and while he was still pale and so, so fragile looking, he was smiling, his voice rough but sounding relieved and happy. “Glad you're awake. I've got some good news and some bad news for you.” Scott started at him blankly, just a tint of apprehension in his eyes, like he was used to hear that line and having something terrible come after it. “Bad news, you're a werewolf now, and your appartment is completely trashed. And maybe possibly a little bit bloody.”

 

“Stiles.” Scott narrowed his eyes, but the teen continued, waving him off.

 

“Good news, you're going to have more control that most thanks to me, and you're not dead!” Stiles threw up his hands, his fingers wiggling and stretched out, and wobbled a little at the sudden movement. The zombie reached out behind him and gripped his waist, making sure he didn't face plant into the broken cement. “Yay!”

 

Scott sighed. “I hate you.” He mumbled, though there wasn't much heat behind it. The wolf that had been sitting beside them the entire time, quiet and observant, snorted. Scott jumped, eyes going wide, then promptly passed right back out again.

 

“Yep.” Stiles said, sounding found. “Scott's gonna be the best werewolf ever.” He muttered sarcastically, right before he slumped back into the zombie's arms, all energy seeming to leave him all at once now that he knew his friend was alive.

 

The other wolf laughed, as much as a wolf could laugh, anyway, and started padding down the stairs, like it was waiting for them to follow it.

 

Lydia sighed, fluttering over to Scott's slumped body. “I guess we should take them inside, before anything else comes out to decide to kill us.”

 

Then, as if it was waiting just for those words, the sky above them boomed loudly, shaking him down to his bones, and rain started pouring down over them.

 

The bat glared over at him. “If you say one word, I will bite your face of.”

 

He kept his mouth shut, then hauled Stiles up into his arms, picking Scott up and swinging his limp body up over his shoulder, and Lydia tucked herself into the collar of his shirt in an attempt to keep dry.

 

If he knew beforehand what getting involved with Stiles Stilinski would've meant, he thinks he might've still done it. Stiles might've been a magnet for trouble, and he may have the kind of power that had a zombie and a vampire fearful of him, but at least he could say his life was interesting now.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zombie (or Derek) learns a little bit about his past. Stiles, though, is still a mystery, and still hurt as Derek takes over their next case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long time since I've revisited this, but hey, that's what happened. How or why, I dunno, my brain just decided it liked where this was going and wanted to keep on it. I know this probably isn't what most people want to see and I'm sorry. I'm trying but my brain is stupid and doesn't like to do what I want it to.

Somehow, the werewolf seemed to know exactly where Stiles lived already. And had invited itself in, sprawled across Stiles bed with it's tongue lolling out it's mouth as it waited for them. The zombie sighed, and dropped Scott onto the floor, propping him against the couch as he settled Stiles down on that. Most of Scott's wounds seemed to have healed already, but Stiles was still a worrying shade of white, with blood crusted on his hand and around his mouth.

 

Lydia sighed and fluttered up out of his shirt, settling herself on the ceiling and wrapping her wings around her tiny body, then promptly fell asleep without a word.

 

The zombie looked over to the werewolf, who just stared back at him. After a few moments of staring it turned over onto it's stomach and stretched out. It's fur receded, body shrinking and then there was a man there, flipping the sheet over his lower half as he stared up at the zombie.

 

The man was... there was something about him, something off, or... familiar or...

 

“Derek.” The man grinned up at him. “I thought you were dead, though... I supposed technically you still are.”

 

 _Derek_... Derek was... it sounded right? He wasn't sure if he was remembering anything, though. There was still a block of fog in his mind where he assumed memories of his old life were. He tilted his head. “Is that... my name?”

 

The man stared at him for a few moments, then he smirked. It made him uncomfortable, but he resisted the urge to move or twitch. “Yes. It is. Derek Hale.” He stretched out across the mattress, eyes turning red, illuminating the dark room around them. “You used to be like me, a wolf. Used to have a large pack, before the fire.” He shrugged. “I figured you'd burned alive in the flames, but clearly you didn't. I'd think if that was the way you'd died, you'd have the burn marks.” The man held up his own arm, showing skin that was marred and just a shade paler than the rest of his skin. “Like me.”

 

He blinked slowly, staring at the mark for a moment, then narrowed his eyes. “Why should I believe you?”

 

“You shouldn't.” He shrugged, standing up and brushing himself off. Derek looked away, listening as the man walked across the room to the window. “You shouldn't put so much trust into people you've just met, Derek. It could make things end badly.” Then, without another word, the man shifted back into a wolf, leaping out of the window onto the fire escape, and disappeared into thick sheets of rain with a soft padding of paws.

 

He stared after the wolf for a few moments, then moved across the room to close the window, keeping the rain out along with anything else that decided to drop in on them tonight. Then he grabbed the wash cloth Stiles' used to help wash off Lydia before, and wet it in the sink, walking over to Stiles to scrub away the dried blood. Stiles felt cold, freezing to the touch, and his skin was damp with sweat. Derek frowned, turning the cloth in his hand to find a clean section, then dabbed away the moisture on his forehead.

 

He hoped he did the right thing, bringing Stiles back here, instead of taking him to a hospital. But he didn't know if what was wrong with Stiles could be discovered with conventional medicine. He could only assume the magic Stiles' used was to much for his body to handle, but how it was damaging him, he couldn't know.

 

Derek settled back on the floor, crossing his legs in front of him and setting the wash cloth aside. He would sit here and wait for Stiles to wake up. There wasn't much else to him to do. He stared at the boy, looking for any signs of improvement. His mind wandered a little as he waited.

 

So... he used to be a werewolf? His family... or pack, they died in a fire. That werewolf was part of his family. He frowned, looking down at his gray-skinned fingers, the bone visible beneath thin flesh. He wondered how he died. The claw marks at his arms suggested a struggle with something supernatural, maybe another wolf. The deep gash that, despite some messy stitches, still seemed to be bleeding freely when he was buried, was probably a factor to his death, along with the bruising around his throat.

 

“Stop, _STOP_!” He could hear himself screaming, something tightening around his throat, burning, his breath stolen from his lungs as it dug into his trachea. “P-plea...ah...” He gasped. Gravel and dirt scraped along his back, something cutting deep into his skin as he was pulled along, suggesting something sharper scattered along the ground. Pain blossomed through his body, making him gasp, and he heard a growl, before he was slammed into something solid, feeling his ribs give from the impact, ripping a scream from his lungs.

 

Derek shuddered, coming back to himself. He remembered something. Someone dragging him along the ground, rope that burned like acid around his neck. It was too dark to see much, and his view from the sky, he could see no light, no moon, just a dark, fat circle in the sky, blotting it out. He could smell something strong, something that made his stomach turn past the chemical on the rope coiled tight around his throat. Ash, burnt flesh and wood, acrid and enough to make his eyes water now, Stiles' image blurring in front of him.

 

“Bucky...?” Stiles muttered softly, his soft brown eyes opening sluggishly, red-rimmed and puffy, but open none-the-less. Derek pushed the memory to the back of his mind and shifted closer, anxious and worried as Stiles tried to move.

 

“Don't.” He barked, settling his hands on Stiles shoulders and pressing him back into the couch. “No moving.”

 

Stiles stared at him for a while, then gave a lopsided smile. “Okay, _Dad_.” He chuckled softly, then stared at Derek, his smile slowly fading, eyes going intense and sharp through the hazy daze he wore before. “What's wrong?”

 

Derek shifted, shrugging. “It's nothing.” He didn't want to alert Stiles of the memory, worried the boy would flail around and possibly hurt himself. “You should get some more rest.” He paused. “I can help move you to the bed.”

 

Stiles held up a hand. “No, I'll stay.” He looked over the undead for a few moments. “I can tell something's up, but I'll let you off for now.”

 

Derek stared at him, then nodded. “If you tell me what happened a few hours ago, I'll tell you.”

 

Stiles looked startled for all of two seconds before he grinned. “Jerk.” He muttered, sounding fond, before he settled back into the couch, falling asleep almost instantly.

 

 _That's about what I expected..._ He shook his head, grinning to himself, then settled in beside the couch, keeping watch on Stiles, the new werewolf, and the vampire.

 

 

Stiles woke up the next morning, feeling like he'd been run through a meat grinder. “Fuuuck.” He groaned, shifting on the couch. It was a familiar feeling, but this was definitely the worst he's ever felt it. He glanced around the room, the previous night slowly trickling back into his memory. At his feet on the floor was Scott, still asleep, any sign of injury gone, aside from the shredded shirt just barely hanging onto his shoulders.

 

Lydia was perched on the counter separating the kitchen from the living room, her eyes narrowed and trained on him. When he blinked at her, she smiled, wrapping her dark purple wings around her body with a small hum. “You're alive, good.”

 

He frowned at her, and moved his gaze up above his head, where his zombie partner was watching over him, his blue eyes trained on him, seeming cautious.

 

Stiles scoffed, moving to sit up, maybe a little bit too quickly, since his head started spinning. Still... “What're you all staring at? I'm completely fine and, as Lydia pointed out, _alive_.” He looked pointedly at the zombie. “Like, you're looking like you're already trying to figure out how to set up my funeral, dude.”

 

He simply stared, like Stiles was some sort of idiot for even questioning his weird staring. “Last night you were coughing up blood. A lot of blood. I think that makes planning a funeral a perfectly normal thing to be doing.”

 

“The zombie has a point.” Lydia tacked on. “I drink that stuff to live, and even I was a little grossed out by it.”

 

Stiles glared at the both of them, then sighed. “I'm fine.” He rubbed hard at his eyes, which felt swollen beneath his knuckles. “I just need some more rest, that's all.”

 

Just then, his phone went off. Stiles tried to shoot up to grab it, because he needed money and the possibility of a case absolutely overrode the pain throbbing through his limbs. Unfortunately he was stopped by Zombie, and Lydia was already flying up to grab it and put it on the top of the fridge.

 

She pointed a single claw out at him from the tip of her wing, hissing. “You rest! No cases or anything.”

 

Stiles whined. “But... _case_...”

 

Zombie shook his head, settling Stiles back down into the cushions. Then he looked up to Lydia. “Let me see it.”

 

Lydia looked skeptical for a moment, but then she fluttered down, carrying the phone with her and dropping it into Zombie's hand, landing on his shoulder to read as he opened the text. Stiles leaned over to read as well, seeing it was from an unknown number.

 

**5:36 PM**

[UNKNOWN]

 

_Mr. Stilinski, we saw your card, and we need your help. The theater on East Hill is having some troubles, caused by an unknown source. I think it might be a poltergeist. Meet me there at 6 tonight if you're interested._

 

Stiles, again, whined. “I've never seen a poltergeist before, guys, come on.”

 

Zombie sighed, and shook his head. “I'll go.” He stood up, staring down at Stiles with a stern expression. “I'm already dead, so it can't do much worse to me. You, will stay here and rest.” He turned his head to Lydia. “Do you want to go?”

 

She nodded. “I actually know something about ghosts, so it's best to take me with you.” She paused, then turned to the window. “We can block the door from the outside, and break the locking mechanism on the window, just to make sure.”

 

Stiles glared. “ _That_ , is a fire hazard.”

 

“ _You_ are a hazard, to yourself and everyone around you.” Lydia shot back, then patted Zombie's neck. “Let's go, I can tell you the supplies we'll need when we get there.”

 

And with that, the two were gone. Stiles could hear scrapping outside the door meaning they had blocked it, and a few moment's later he saw Lydia flutter up to the window, point one claw at him menacingly, before she closed the lock and broke it off so it couldn't be reopened. He stuck his tongue out at her and she rolled her eyes, before leaving again.

 

 _Great_. Now instead of dying a _cool_ death by a tortured ghost, he gets to die of _boredom_. He prodded Scott with his toe, and watched as his friend simply slumped to the floor and continued to snore. He didn't even have his bro to entertain him. This sucked...

 

Stiles sat there, sulking, for a few moments, then grinned and got up. Good thing they didn't know about that trap door he had hidden under his bed...

 

 

“So.” Lydia started. She was hiding under the hat he'd picked up from the alley by the apartment, her claws pricking his scalp as she jostled with every step. There were still quite a few people out and about, so he had to duck away to try and find a disguise for the two of them. A ratty trench coat and a patched fedora was the best he could find, and it did seem effective, he got barely a second glance from anyone passing him by. If he got any recognition it was probably mostly because he looked like he'd walked out of a Noir detective film.

 

He hummed, keeping any eye out for the theater as he walked. Lydia continued. “You seemed to have remembered something the other night.”

 

Derek stumbled, then cleared his throat, trying to look as normal as possible for having tripped over nothing. Lydia clucked her tongue. “I'm very observant, you know. I heard what the wolf said. He knew you. That triggered something, didn't it, Derek?”

 

He glanced around to make sure there was no one around to hear him, and nodded. “My death. I remembered... I was murdered.”

 

Lydia gave a soft gasp, then shifted through his hair. “Do you know who did it? They could still be out there.”

 

He shook his head. “It was too dark to see. The moon was eclipsed, and we were out in the middle of nowhere, I think.”

 

She hummed. “That's how they did it. I wondered how you sustained those wounds if you were a wolf; any other time they would've healed. So they probably knew about what the eclipse would've done to you.”

 

He didn't really know what she was talking about, but he nodded his acquiesce anyway. She sighed, hitting him with her wing. “The eclipse makes a wolf basically human. You would've had no healing factor, and no strength or speed to help you. You were _vulnerable_. Your killer _knew_ that. So they were either a wolf like you, a hunter, or someone who's done their reading and knew what you were.”

 

Derek frowned, not noticing the person who dodged out of his way after taking one look at his expression. He wondered if it was someone he trusted... He thought of the wolf's words, of the burn on his arm. If wolf's could heal then... Why would that burn still be there?

 

A fire that brought the rest of my pack to their deaths... Was the fire... on purpose? Did the fire take place on the eclipse? The same night as his own death? Why would they kill him separately, though?

 

Derek shook his head, pushing away all the questions swirling around in his mind, then spotted the theater a few blocks down. “There it is.” He muttered to himself – and to Lydia, who shifted uneasily underneath his hat.

 

Walking in, the theater did seem like the perfect space for a haunting; paint peeling from the walls, creaking floorboards and doors, windows rattling and pipes groaning overhead. He walked in a few steps, examining the area around him. No sign of a poltergeist at the moment.

 

“I don't sense anything here...” Lydia agreed. “Right now it seems fairly peaceful, but I can definitely feel that there was something here not too long ago. The air is heavy with it's anger, it's nearly suffocating...”

 

Now that she said it, he could definitely feel it; it felt oppressive, an anger and vengeance thick and throbbing through the air. It felt familiar, and the image of himself trying to shrink away from a swinging blade, aimed straight for his middle, flashed in front of his eyes.

 

“Mr. Stilinski?”

 

Derek jumped at the voice, swinging around to see a young girl, not more than Stiles' age, standing in the doorway, smiling at them. “You're taller than I imagined. Not that I could imagine much with your name. No, um, no offense, at all, just... you know, it's not a name you see every day.”

 

Derek blinked at her, then shook his head. “I'm not... him. I'm his partner. He's unavailable at the moment, a rough night last night with another case, so I came in for him.”

 

She looked started for a moment, then grinned, seeming slightly embarrassed and relieved at the same time. “Oh, good. I mean, not that...” She cut herself off abruptly and shook her head, then strode over to him. She stretched her hand out and he, reluctantly, gave it a quick shake. His fingers weren't too damaged, but he wasn't sure if the graying skin and cold touch would give too much away.

 

The girl didn't seem to catch it though, and he inclined her head slightly. “I'm Kira. Thank you for coming... Um...?”

 

“Der-”

 

 _SLAM_.

 

All three of them jumped as the back door of the room burst in, and Stiles was standing there, looking at least a little ashamed of himself, carrying a bag with a thread-bound, printer paper copy of his bestiary, an iron crowbar, markers, and salt.

 


End file.
